Brad Dupuy

Brad Dupuy is one of the most talented artists in New Orleans, hands down.  Brad has been painting since he was old enough to hold a paintbrush, pretty much.  Brad is 35.  That’s quite a while.

 My favorite time to write is late at night.  That’s what works best for me, it’s when I feel the most expressive.  The other day I asked Brad what his favorite time of day to paint was.  He said, “Whenever I can.”  Somehow, that answer didn’t surprise me.

Brad and I became friends when I sat next to him at the bar at the Country Club one night and pretty much forced him to start talking to me.  Then I pretty much forced him to go out bar-hopping with me and my crazy friends.  This was quite a while ago.  I think Brad was a little scared of me at first.  But he warmed up to me quickly enough.

Before you get the wrong idea about us, this ain’t your grandfather’s country club.  I highly doubt your grandfather’s country club has naked people running around the pool…

But that’s a story for another day.  This is a story about Brad Dupuy.

Brad’s art is hanging in the Country Club. Check it out next time you’re in there.  Some beautiful stuff up on those walls.

Brad finally got himself a website.  You can see it right here.  Buy a painting for yourself.  Buy one for me, too.  I can’t afford that shit right now.  I’m still out with a broken knee.  If you can’t afford it either, forward this to someone who can.  Tell them they have to buy me one too.  We’ll call it a finder’s fee…

braddupuy.com

A hockey stick?!

Oh, my mind is wandering right now.  I love hockey.  And naked Alaskan men.  I can't wait for January to get here.

A hockey stick!

Bon voyage

They sent me off in style last night.  There are going to be seven people at this dinner party.  Is this going to be enough wine?

Here we are, warming up…

                                   

                                                         
Dinnertime.  Mmmm, meat…

 

                                                         

Things got animated…
                                                            

                                                                               

Turns out it wasn’t enough wine.  Some of us wound up on Rampart St. after for a nightcap.  Or three.  Hey, whose hand is that next to my head?  And whose jacket am I wearing?

                                                      

Motherfuckers.  I miss you already.  I’ll be back.  Twenty-three days and counting.  Laissez les bon temps rouler!

Wake up call

So I was in bed Friday night and my phone rang at 1:45am.  Yeah, I know.  That's pretty early to be in bed in New Orleans on a Friday night.  Or any night in New Orleans, for that matter.  I'd had a long day...

Anyway, I was just about to fall asleep when the phone rang.  It was Michael Kavanaugh.

Michael: "Girl!  What are you doing?"

Me: "Sleeping!"

Michael: "No you're not.  I'm coming to get you.  I'll be there in five minutes."

I'm so glad he did.  Because this was happening on a street corner three blocks away:





   

There was a beer and wine stand.  Someone was selling lamb curry.  We danced for I don't know how long.  It's funny, I KNEW I'd heard drums when I got home that night.

All right, all right.  I'll stop saying how good it is to be home...

Mardi Gras Indians

When you go to New Orleans, make sure you always have your camera handy.  Because you never know when some shit like this is going to break out...

 

                                            



Yeah.  Just your average November afternoon in the Big Easy.  Have I mentioned how good it is to be home?

Letter to a beautiful boy

                                           
Saw this while walking down Decatur the other day.  Felt like I'd been punched in the gut.  Still?  It's been what, six years?  Maybe more?  I don't think I'll ever be able to see that sign without remembering the day I first saw you.

You were so beautiful.  And so smart.  I could tell just by watching you work.  I was with some lesbians and couldn't make a move.  But I came back for you.  Oh, you bet I did.

You were 21 but smarter than most people twice your age.  I was six years older, but that was OK.  You'd been working at Fiorella's for a year, moving on from a troubled past.  You had a dangerous history.  Some trouble with the law.  I didn't mind.  I saw nothing but potential in those soft brown eyes.  Oh, those eyes.   They were the death of me.

I remember every conversation we had.  Every kiss.  Those walks by the river.  That night on my couch...

I would have moved heaven and earth for you.  Given you the moon and the stars, all those stupid cliches.  I had some competition though.  There was another girl.  She won.  You were a stand up man about it, which made me love you even more.

I hope you are well, my dear friend, wherever you are.  We spoke once after the hurricane.  I knew your neighborhood was destroyed, but I also knew you were smart enough to still be alive.  You were doing great.  You were still with that girl.  Had started your own moving company.  I'll never forget you telling me, in that delicious New Orleans accent, "Girl, I'm a contractor now!"  I swallowed the lump in my throat and reminded you that I always said you were going to be a success.  You were quiet for a moment, then you said, "Yeah, girl.  You always did believe in me."

Yes, baby.  Yes I did.  Always.

Blitie

                             

This precious little schnauzer's name is Blitie.  Have you met Blitie?  If not, you really should.

Blitie is 13 years old.  He was born in Maine, then moved to Miami.  He stayed there for nine years, then moved to New Orleans about four years ago.  Blitie has been around.

Blitie has a younger brother named Bucky.  Don't have any pictures of Bucky.  He's kind of shy.  Bucky is four months younger than Blitie.  They have never been separated.  It was a promise that Don made to his mother-in-law before she died.  They were her dogs originally.  Her wish has been granted, through hell and high water.  Literally.  Don Starr is a man who stands by his word.

I love Blitie.  You would love Blitie too.  Everyone loves Blitie!

                            

WHO DAT!!

The Saints are 9-0.  For the first time in history.  And I am in New Orleans.  There are no words to describe the magic in the air around here.  Everyone's pretty happy...

                                                 

And we ALL love Drew Brees right now.

 

Breesus saves.  Oh yes he does.  Bless you boys.  We believe.  Who dat!

                                             

Shadow Shot Sunday

A broken knee and crutches didn't stop me from having a good time on a boat in Maui.  Didn't even slow me down.

                                       

  Shadow Shot Sunday

WHO DAT!!

 I have it.  Do you?  Let's geaux Saints!

We're all watching the game at Don's house tomorrow.  Rose is bringing hot dogs and chili.  Rose makes amazing chili.  We're going to have beer and wine and mimosas.  I wish you could be there.

Don't get me wrong, I love watching Saints games at the Black Magic Voodoo Lounge in San Francisco.  I really do.  But there's nothing, NOTHING like watching a Saints game in your friend's living room in New Orleans surrounded by food and friends and family and freakishly fanatical fellow fans.  Yeah you right!